


In Defense of Man

by Venstar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After helping Sherlock “die”, Molly learns that in order to<br/>survive, sometimes you have to fight for yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flavialikestodraw](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Flavialikestodraw).



> flavialikestodraw.tumblr.com and i were partnered for the sherlock mini-bang. i am just getting around to moving that piece over here. the accompanying art work can be found here. she's really cool and chill. love love love flavia. http://flavialikestodraw.tumblr.com/post/71507839609/in-defense-of-man-this-is-my-entry-for-the

Molly sat on the counter of the laboratory in St. Barts, Sherlock pacing nearby. He was getting ready for his final curtain call, the show to end all shows. She picked up her badge and looked at her picture upside down. Sherlock stopped pacing and checked his phone.  
“It’s time,” he said walking towards her. He reached a hand out and quickly patted her knee and then her cheek. Molly teared up. She grabbed blindly at the lapels of his coat, twisted her hands in the material and yanked him forward. Off balance, he slammed into her. She wrapped one leg around him and pressed her lips to his with the kind of desperation only life and death can bring. A final attempt for life to reveal what you have always wanted.

  
Stunned, Sherlock tasted the salt of her tears and instinctively grabbed her to catch his balance. Too late, he tilted to the side and their weight carried them off the counter and onto the floor. Sherlock twisted to take the brunt of the fall. Molly squeaked as they thudded heavily to the floor and then she giggled. Sherlock stared up at her as she laughed, her face radiant through her tears.  
“Sorry,” she whispered. She swiped at her face before reaching out her hand and brushing it through his dark locks. “You’ll have to do something about this when you disappear, it’s too recognizable.”  
Sherlock chuckled and twisted the end of her pony tail around his hand and brought her nose to nose with him. Her bright eyes widened, staring at him. “Curiouser and curiouser,” Sherlock rumbled and Molly felt it all the way to her toes. She tightened her hand in his hair and kissed him one last time before withdrawing from him. She stood up and offered her hand to help him up, all business once more. “Make sure you find your way back through the rabbit hole,” she said, straightening his coat.  
“Molly,” Sherlock said, eyes boring into hers. A mix of sadness, regret and sudden desire.  
“No, not now,” she patted the lapel of his coat and smoothed her fingers over the red buttonhole, memorizing the pattern of his wool coat. “Your timing is awful.”  
“My timing!” he exclaimed.  
Molly smiled up at Sherlock, mischief written all over her face. “Until we meet again, detective.” She gasped as he hoisted her off the ground. She pressed her hands against his shoulders.  
“You little devil,” he whispered before lowering her slowly until she was still slightly above him so that he could reach her lips with his. A light, teasing feathery touch. Her breath came in little huffs. Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips and then to the ground. He held her back an inch from him and took his full and final look of her and finally saw everything, “Ah, I see. Such a tiny little thing, with a big heart. Almost as big as your eyes and you’ve kept it all for me. I’m sorry-”  
With that, Molly teared up and looked away. “Don’t,” she said. “Please don’t. Please put me down.”  
“I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge it sooner.”  
“You always see the most minute detail. I thought either you couldn’t see it or you knew, but you were just avoiding it.”  
“I was.”  
“Horrid man. I love you.” Molly, horrified, clasped a hand over her mouth.  
“Obviously,” he whispered, crushing her to him in one last embrace.  
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the last feel of Sherlock before he set her away from him. He brushed her cheek gently, withdrew his hand and walked out of the lab. “Laterz,” he said, winking back at her. Molly read the paper the next day about the suicide of the fake genius. She folded the paper gently, placed it in a box and tucked it under her bed. One day, he would return.


	2. Chapter 2

In the aftermath of Sherlock’s disappearance, Molly spent that time alternating between mourning the loss of Sherlock and fearing he may never succeed in taking down Moriarty’s web of destruction. He could die and she would never know it.

 

Molly took the time to visit with John and Mrs. Hudson, offering comfort when she could. John had become quieter if that was possible. Mrs. Hudson was still lively as ever, a bit concerned about John, which she mentioned to Molly when she popped over for tea.

“He doesn’t go out as often anymore. I tried to set him up with Martha’s granddaughter the other day. You know Martha, lives down the street, I’ve known her for years. Her granddaughter is a good girl, but John didn’t seem to take a fancy to her.”

She and Molly continued to gossip in the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson moving around making tea and unwrapping the scones Molly had brought over. Molly shifted from her position against the kitchen counter when she heard the front door open and shut.

Mrs. Hudson called out, “In here John, we have company! Come say hello!”

They heard footsteps approach and a familiar blonde head leaned it. “Lo,” he said and nodded.

“John!” Molly exclaimed and walked briskly over to him to take his arm. “Come join us, Mrs. Hudson has some tea on. I’m sure we can find you a cup and I brought scones.”  
“Oh, I just came in from the clinic, I’m not-” John started. to say  
“Don’t say no,” she said and squeezed his arm, “and then afterwards we can go see a movie!”  
“I don’t-”  
“I know you don’t, but you’re going to. Doctor’s orders! Although I’m not a Doctor, you’re the Doctor. Doctor Watson!”  
John smiled, “That’s awful kind of you-”  
“Go on dear, it’ll be just the thing for you!” smiled Mrs. Hudson.  
“You’re coming too!” exclaimed Molly. “You both are, we are all going. To see a movie. To live. Like he would have wanted us to. Like we would have wanted him to! Do you think he would have just sat around moping to himself that we were gone? Absolutely not, he’d be out there, trying to solve the case or cases!”  
“Molly, I’ve tried, but no one will listen!” John cried, frustrated.  
“I know John, I know. But just because no one will listen doesn’t mean we have to give up or stop our lives. So help me, when he comes back and finds you in this state, he will never forgive me!”  
John drew back a little and frowned, “When he comes back? Molly?”  
“No John, I’m sorry. I know he’s dead. Don’t worry, I’m just hypothesizing with the wrong tenses. If he saw you like this he’d be really, really disappointed. So I’m not taking no for an answer, we’re going. Come on, man up and grab your purse!”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled, “I’ll get mine dearie, don’t worry. I’ll meet you out front, let me just change my sweater.”  
Molly linked her arm with John’s and tugged the man along, half pulling, half pushing.  
“All right, all right, you little harriden!” John said. They exited the building and waited for Mrs. Hudson.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly continued to make regular visits to 221b, grateful that John had decided to stay. She was happy to bash about the town with John, anything to see the small man smile and perk up. She hadn’t spent much time with him before because like herself he had been in Sherlock’s shadow. A small satellite circling a large planetary body. Without Sherlock, she got to know him more and more. He spoke about his time in Afghanistan, his soft voice describing beautiful sunrises, hell hot days and tragedy. He would rub his shoulder or knee at this some points. When she questioned him further about his injury, he patted his left shoulder and told her he’d been shot once and it affected his leg. “A psychosomatic injury”, he smiled.   
John enjoyed Molly’s visits, he got to know more about her, where she was from, how she met Sherlock and her first experience watching him experiment with various chokeholds on cadavers in the morgue. Her description of Sherlock wrestling several relatively fresh cadavers into various positions to compare bruise marks made him laugh.   
For Molly, her nights were filled with one nightmare after the other, Sherlock dying, her death, John’s death, Mrs. Hudson’s death. Some nights everyone died.   
“Nooooo!” Molly screamed. She shot out of her bed, drenched in sweat and shivering. She covered her face with her hands and wiped the tears from her eyes as she tried to erase the dead and dying faces of her friends. This time, in her dream Moriarty had been standing over John and Mrs. Hudson while Molly had been holding Sherlock’s lifeless body. She had been helpless as she watched him execute first John and then Mrs. Hudson before turning his gun on her, except he laughed and left her alone. Surrounded by dead bodies.   
“Not again, not anymore,” she said out loud.   
She stomped into the kitchen and started her kettle to make a cup of tea and booted up her computer, waiting for the water to boil. She browsed through the internet ads searching for a self-defense class. “Bingo,” she said as she selected Mrs. Smythe’s Self Defense for Girls from the SAVELOTS website. Five sessions for £29 or £34 for 10 sessions. “Select and purchase 10. Okay, next.” That night, aside from the self-defense course she purchased a handgun safety course, a skeet shooting session and rock climbing. Molly went back to bed that night smiling, a new purpose in her heart and soul. 

Following Molly’s breakthrough, whenever she caught John stop in mid conversation and turn sober, she at first commiserated with him, patted his arm gently, made soft tsking noises. Until she began kicking him in the shin. Then her kicks got stronger. Sometimes she would elbow him in the gut! She would be rough with him physically which would start a bit of a row and end with a lot of laughter. Such a tiny gutsy thing, he thought. He could see what Sherlock hadn’t seen in her. They would have made a lovely couple.   
Molly was gaining strength and confidence through her self-defense courses that she continued, signing up for a yearly membership. She had filled her slight frame with muscle from rock climbing and had become quite proficient with a handgun, earning her concealed carry, She was also a force to be reckoned with on a paintball battlefield. She kept all this quiet and the time passed by. A year, two years. Until she felt ready.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly was dancing and singing in her small, brightly lit apartment kitchen, her cat Toby hiding from her. He didn’t like the noise. Her barefeet pattered across the kitchen, her night shirt puffing out away from her as she spun, her hair flying out around her. “Let the sun shine, the sun shine in!” she sang and skip hopped until she came to a stop, panting when she heard a knock on her apartment door. “In a minute!” she called out as she approached the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she checked the drawer in the hall table making sure her small pistol was available. She looked out the peep hole and blinked. She rubbed her eyes, blinked again and peeped back out. She unlocked her door and cracked it open and stared up into the thin, haggard face of Sherlock Holmes. His hair was unkempt and blonde. She gasped and shut the door and reopened the door and shut it again.  
“For god’s sake, open the door!” he whispered hoarsely.  
Molly wrenched open the door again and leapt onto him, wrapping herself around him.

As she felt him begin to stagger, she unwrapped herself, took a step back and punched him in the gut. Hard.  
He doubled over and grunted, “Molly.”  
“Serves you right!” she whispered angrily. She grabbed the back of his hoodie and yanked him inside, furious. “Of all the nerve, coming here in the middle of the night, no warning, no ‘oh hey Molly I did it, I got them all, I’m done, I’ll be popping over for tea!’ I ran out of tea this afternoon all I have is coffee and I can’t believe you let yourself get into this state. Didn’t you eat? Of course not, you never ate when you were alive and then when you were dead and on the run I suppose you just couldn’t be bothered!’  
“Molly!”  
“Don’t Molly me!” She released him when they reached the small bathroom, shoved him in and tried to strip him of his filthy clothes, but his hands blocked her. “And where is your coat, it’s freezing out there. What are these rags that you have on. Ew what is this? Gross. Take them off, come on, come on!”  
“Mo-” he started.  
“Molly me one more time and I’m going to let you have it! Start the water, come on off with your stuff. I can run by John’s and-”  
“MOLLY!” Sherlock yelled and stopped as she left the bathroom as swiftly as she had pushed him in. “Molly? Molly!” he yelped as she stood in the bathroom door pointing a gun directly at him. “Have you lost what passes for your mind? It’s me! It’s Sherlock!”  
“I bloody well know who you are. Now strip.”

Sherlock stared at Molly standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a thin night shirt that came to her mid thigh. He paused and took a good look. Extra muscle in the thighs and biceps, a smattering of bruises dotted her fine skin, the safety was off on the gun, hands and gaze steady Oh she was sane all right and very serious. This was not the Molly he had left crying at St. Bart’s.  
Sherlock watched as she stared at him and he raised his hands slowly in surrender. She raised her gun a notch and sighted down the barrel. He thought back to the glimpse he had of her apartment when she had hauled him through it. It had been neat and tidy, like the small elegant woman in front of him. He had smelled the faint odor of gun oil, a smudge of chalk on her hall closet, pictures of various scenic landscapes taken from a high vantage point with a digital camera. They all had a time stamp on them. Most telling was the punching bag in the corner, a laminated picture of James Moriarty duct taped to it. The picture had seen better days. John’s shirt hanging on a chair, a needle and thread stabbed through one of the buttons. Smears of green paint commonly found in paintball arena’s were on Molly’s knock off Shabby Chic shower curtains.  
“Figured it out yet?” she asked. She could see the wheels turning in his head.  
He relaxed a little bit, his hands lowered just a smidge. “Actually, I’m thrilled. John was fortunate to have your help. I hope Mrs. Hudson didn’t mind too badly. She loves to play mother hen.”  
“You’re a mess.”  
“Quite.”  
“Strip and into the shower with you. If you’re a good boy and you do that, you may have some breakfast.”  
“May I?” He wiggled his fingers, still in the air.  
“Of course.” She flicked the gun at him. “Everything off and in with you, I know your tricks.”  
Sherlock stared hard at the little termagant before him. Gone was the soft, yielding and hesitant girl. Before him stood a woman. Bold, hardened and determined. He was the one showing hesitation now. He reached for the hem of his hoodie and pulled it off.  
“Just put it on the floor. I’ll wash it later,” Molly said when he stood with it in his hands looking around.  
He dropped it and moved on to his shoes and socks. He wiggled his bare toes on the pink bathroom carpet. His belt followed his shoes onto the growing pile of clothes. Molly saw that the belt had been tightened and notched two holes smaller than when he had first started with it. There were three indentations. She tsked at the sight. He pulled his t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor. She gasped. He was practically skin and bones. His pale skin was taut over his ribs, she could see his stomach muscles, but not because he was exceptionally fit. He had suffered for his cause, for all of them. Her hand trembled now.  
He flicked a glance at her. “Molly?” he asked softly.  
She shook her head, “Shame on you Sherlock. To think you would have let John or Mrs. Hudson see you like this. Hurry up. I’m sure you're hungry.” She wrinkled her nose, “and you do smell a bit off.” Molly left the bathroom and replaced her gun before plodding tiredly to the kitchen, worn out by the sudden arrival of Sherlock Holmes. She began to cry as she started a pot of coffee. Even though it was late at night, she had promised him breakfast.  
Sherlock finished his shower and went to find Molly. He smiled, he could hear her banging away, slamming kitchen cabinets left and right. Such a noisy little thing. She looked up when he got to the middle of the living room. She eyed him up and down, and offered, “Well, you look better. How do you feel?”  
“Like Rip Van Winkle must have felt. Awful.”  
She smiled at him, concern lighting her pretty brown eyes. “I’ll get clothes for you as soon as possible. I don’t think John’s home this evening, Mrs. Hudson will let me in. There might be a couple of things left that I can scrounge up.”  
“No need, it will look suspicious if you’re seen bundling my clothes out at this time of night.”  
She wrinkled her brow, “Yes of course. I’ll put your rags in the wash. You sit and eat. Sherlock watched her bustle off, a hot plate of eggs and toast on the stovetop and coffee in the pot. He sighed, the luxury.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock didn’t wait for Molly or tell her he was going to break the news to John. Like all men when they get a bee in their bonnet and have that special talk with themselves about how women need protecting, they make a mistake.   
“Where have you been!” hissed Molly when Sherlock came back to her apartment. She waited impatiently as he took his hoodie off. “Well!”  
“John’s in trouble,” said Sherlock.  
“What! When! That’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. You should have known better!” she said smacking him on the shoulder.   
“Why do you assume I had anything to do with it!”  
“Because you went to visit them!”  
“Just John and only for a moment. He knows I'm alive.”  
“Now! I bet he was pissed.”  
“An understatement. I would say he was more pissed at you.”  
“Oh dear, I forgot about that part. Well, that was to be expected. But back to the point. John!”  
“You care about him,” Sherlock said, gaze narrowing as her tone of voice changed on the word John.  
“Yes,” she whispered. She turned and hid her smile. “I’m sorry Sherlock. It just happened.”  
He stilled at this. She continued, “I didn’t know how to tell you. I know he was your friend first.” Her shoulders began to shake from holding back her mirth.  
“Molly, what are you. Are you. Why didn’t you tell me!” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. She was trying so desperately hard to hide her laughter behind her hands, but it was coming out from behind her eyes.  
“Molly Hooper!” he thundered.  
She laughed, a clear sound ringing throughout the room. “Oh I hope you don’t mind. He’s such a lovely man. We’ve become mates, best mates.”  
“Well, just as long as it’s just chummy sort of mates.”  
“More like soul sisters really. Girlfriends actually.” She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “We braid each other’s hair and eat tubs of cookie dough together and commiserate over some bloke named Sherlock. A lot of chocolate is consumed on a daily basis.”  
Sherlock stared at the giggling bundle of female standing in front of him, securely wrapped in his arms. “I don’t think John could have asked for a better friend. One so loyal and brave. Well, except for one that walks on four legs.” She smacked him and snorted. He bent down for a quick kiss and pulled back, resting his forehead on hers. “Moriarty’s top man has John. He’s ruthless. He won’t hesitate to kill him if he doesn’t get what he wants.”  
“And he wants you,” Molly sighed against his hoodie. Her soft breath brushed against his skin. “Mrs. Hudson?”  
“Safe, I called Mycroft.” He could feel her fingers tapping on his chest. She pulled away and began to pace.   
“You know where he is.” Not a question, a statement of fact.  
“Yes.”  
“The last spider?”  
“Yes.”  
“You plan on going alone.”  
“Yes.”  
“No.”  
“Don’t even think-”  
“No, you don’t even think about walking out of here alone again or without a plan.” Molly poked him hard in the chest. “You do that again and you can keep walking and I won’t be held responsible for my actions!” Molly kissed Sherlock again before shoving him away from her.


	6. Chapter 6

John struggled. He was hanging from his wrists and his bare feet were tied together below him. He grunted as he tried to shift his weight, the rope biting into his wrists. He twisted his hands. He couldn’t see a thing, he had some sort of hood and blindfold on. He couldn’t open his eyes, the air was stuffy and sound was muffled. He could hear his own breath in his ears. He wiggled his fingers again, the skin on his wrists was burning from supporting his weight. He contracted the muscles of his biceps and pulled himself up a bit and tried to feel what he was hanging from. Metal, he thought. He lowered himself again and hesitantly reached his feet as far as he could, he didn’t touch anything. He didn’t even want to think about what it was he was hanging over or how high up he might be. He pulled himself back up and lifted his knees.  
“Ah ah ah. Dr. Watson,” came a voice.  
John paused in his movements and listened hard. He couldn’t hear anything at first until the sound of booted feet on metal above him came closer.   
“Who is it?” asked John.   
Laughter. Clear, ringing laughter.  
“What do you want?” asked John again. He heard a soft whirring sound. John felt himself being raised. His weight swung in the air. His shoulders began to ache from the strain of his position. He was brought to a stop, his body continued to swing in the air a bit until his hood was yanked off and a hand grabbed his face, turning him around. John’s vision was still hampered by a blindfold. Something cold and hard touched his bare skin exposed between his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. He flinched at the cold and the clear laughter rang out again.   
“Knock, Knock,” said the soft voice again. Male.  
“For the love of God. My life may be at stake here! I’m not playing knock knock jokes! You can tell me who you are or sod off!” John exclaimed incredulously.   
“Such brave words from the brave little soldier.”  
“You know who I am.”  
“I know more about you than you want me to know.”  
“But I don’t know you. Unless you’re an old army buddy whose wife I slept with while on leave. Oops, sorry mate, I didn’t know.”  
A pause followed this statement. The voice chuckled and began to spin John around in the air.  
“Didn’t buy that did you?” said John.  
“As I said before. I know you.”  
“Well, I don’t know you. And murder as they say is usually very personal. A crime of passion, revenge.”  
“Or sometimes,” said the voice, “for no reason at all.”  
John laughed, “There’s always a reason. Money, drugs, love, anger. Mummy issues. Daddy issues.”  
The hand stopped turning John.  
“Ah, Daddy it is then.” John smirked.  
The faceless hand reached John’s face and stroked the sides before digging into the pressure points on both of his cheeks. The hand released his cheeks and moved to the blindfold, pulling it down. John blinked at the bright light and shook his head. He took a quick look around and saw they were in a warehouse. One by the Thames, he guessed after he glanced down and saw water. “Next problem,” he muttered to himself and turned to look at his captor. A slender, tanned, blonde man dressed in black fatigues and boots stood before him. Scars crossed the once beautiful face, cracking it like a mirror. Bright blue eyes were also sizing John up. John couldn’t help it. “So, who’s your daddy.”  
The blonde leaned over and lovingly whispered into John’s ear, “Moriarty.” John wasn’t given a warning before a fist was slammed into his jaw. John had half a smile on his face as the world went dark around him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Right, well,” said Molly, “it’s a good thing I had this made up then.” She ran to her bedroom and threw herself on the floor by her bed and shoved herself under. Sherlock followed behind, curious. He laughed at the spectacle she presented, half out and half under her bed. He admired the length of leg she was showing as he leaned against the doorframe. She kicked a bit and pushed some small boxes and pictures out of her way until she said “Aha!” and pulled herself back out, dragging a medium sized cardboard box out from under with the words “Molly’s Junk” written across it. His mirth faded as she pulled out a handful of fabric. In fact, his humor down right disappeared as she shook out the wad of grey patterned wool and pulled it on. He froze. She was wearing a copy of his signature coat, cut down to her small size. “No,” he said, “absolutely not.”   
“Yes,” she replied, “Absolutely yes.”  
“No.”  
“Oh piss off. You don’t have to come. I’ll go myself.”  
“You will not!”  
“I can and I will.”  
“Do you hear yourself?” Sherlock asked.  
“Of course I do. I’m going to save my friend. You can come too, but only to help. I mean this is all your fault, really.  
“My fault! Really! You’ll let me! As if you could stop me. What am I saying?” Sherlock shook his head. “No.” Molly looked at him, and brushed past him into the living room. “Molly.”  
She kept walking, until she got to the little hall table.  
“You don’t know where to find them!” he exclaimed satisfactorily and plopped himself back onto her bed.  
She came back into the bedroom.  
“Shit,” he said, raising his head.  
“As I said. You’re either with me or you’re not going at all!” she aimed her gun at him again.  
He laid back on her bed and stared mutinously at the ceiling. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”  
“No shit, Sherlock.”


	8. Chapter 8

John slowly came to and heard that soft voice again “Tick, tock. Tick tock, time is growing short.”  
John chuckled nervously, “Or what? Am I going to be eaten by a crocodile? Got a merry band of pirate’s with you?” He shook his head, the blindfold was back on and his face burned from the pain of having his jaw pounded on by a human sledgehammer. His heartbeat quickened when he remembered what had been whispered in his ear. “Wait, did you-” he started, “You said Moriarty!”  
“Yes,” hissed a reply. “We’ve not been properly introduced, but if I may? Sebastian Moran, assassin extraordinaire, at your service. Well, not yours, Moriarty’s.  
“You sick son of a bitch!” John yelled. He wiggled his hands and kicked his feet out trying to unhook himself.   
“I’d be very careful if I were you, John Watson. You’re literally over water that is too deep for you to swim out of. You’ll sink like a stone with no one to save you. Unlike your friend, there’s no safety net waiting for you.  
John stopped kicking. “When I get out of this, I’m going to rip your lungs out and let Sherlock experiment with them.”  
“I’ll look forward to it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Back at Molly’s apartment, Sherlock was still arguing, trying to talk her out of even beginning her plan. She had set her gun on the bedside table, where he was eyeing it with distaste.  
“I’m a woman. I’ll always be weak in the eyes of men. Whether it’s my intelligence or my physical strength. I’m not a threat. I don’t count!”  
“I believe we’ve had this discussion before Molly. I see you, you count.”  
“I don’t mean you,” she said waving her hand at him. “I mean to most men, probably to this guy. What’s his name.”  
Sherlock sighed the sigh of a beleaguered and badgered male and sat up, rubbing the bridge of his nose before steepling his fingers under his chin. “Sebastian Moran.”  
“Okay, If we do it my way, we may be able to come out of this alive.”  
“There is too much risk here.”  
“Too much risk?” she asked looking at him as she dropped her copy coat on the bed by Sherlock and walked to her closet. She reached in and began pulling out everything black she owned, discarding shorts and skirts. “Too much risk. Who do you think you are talking to! You left me with a horrible secret and job to do. At any time, apparently I or John could have been killed for what I did and knew and now you tell me rescuing John is too risky? Sherlock, please.”  
Sherlock sighed again and stood up, pacing the room.  
“And you can stop sighing at me, you rat.” She sounded breathless and was making an awful lot of noise. Sherlock looked over and watched her hop on one foot trying to remove her trainers and slacks at the same time.  
“I started this game, I must finish it.” He continued to watch as she finally managed to kick her shoes off and stumble kick her slacks off.  
“This isn’t a game Sherlock, we’re human beings, not toys!” she said flinging her t-shirt to the floor in anger.  
“I know that! Don’t you think I know that!” He marveled at her trim figure as she stood there with her back to him in her stockinged feet, boyshorts and some secret Victoria must have shared with her. He quietly watched as she pulled on a black longsleeve turtle neck, black leggings and sat down to put on a pair of heavy black boots. She looked back up at him when she was done tying them. “Well,” she prodded.   
“I can’t lose both you and John. I’ve taken so much from the both of you I can’t do it again!”  
Molly turned and marched over to her bed. Sherlock thought she was going for the gun again so he made a lunge for her just as she leapt up and onto her bed , sweeping up the copy coat. She swirled it around, sliding her sleeves into the armholes, the fabric flying out behind her. She stood slightly above him, he below her. She raised her hand and pointed her finger in his face. She looked like a very angry, grey, wool angel. And very beautiful.  
“Now hear me Sherlock Holmes. I love you, I love Mrs. Hudson and I love John. I kept your secret safe to keep you and everyone else safe. IF you think for one moment that you’re going to step out of here by yourself and live without either me or this Moran guy killing you, then you have another thing coming! These are my loved ones and I will die for them too. I will die a thousand times to save them!”   
Sherlock gasped, a million thoughts flew through his mind, all to do with love, friends and help. “Hold on, hold on,” he said, “there’s something off with your coat.”  
She smiled. “I know, do you like it?”  
Sherlock bent and grabbed the hem, turning it in his hands.  
“It’s weighted.” She said grinning.  
“Obviously,” he said “Good job.” He turned and held his arms out to the smiling, small termagant. She gave him a quick look before accepting his embrace. She rested her cheek against the top of his head.  
“I know, Sherlock. I know I can help you more than you think. I really can.”  
Sherlock pulled back and looked up at her. “Promise,” he whispered against her lips.  
“Promise,” she said. She made and X over her heart. “Now,” she said hopping off the bed and running back into her living room, booted feet thudding and coat flapping behind her, “The game’s afoot.”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed her out of the room. He caught up with her when she got into her living room. “He’s wants you, so let’s give him you.” Molly pulled out her phone and scrolled through it until she found the voice recorder. She showed the screen to Sherlock. She pressed record.  
“Brilliant,” he said.  
“Obviously,” she smiled and continued to capture his voice in snippets.


	10. Chapter 10

John hung in silence, his breath and the water lapping below him the only things he could hear. He shivered and tried to hide it. He turned his head trying to hear Moran. Nothing. Until he heard the sound of laughter. Deep laughter, laughter that could only come from one crazy soul. “Sherlock,” John whispered. He struggled further with his bonds when he heard the booted feet of Moran moving around. “God damn it,” said John, frustrated with his inability to see anything. Moran had put both the hood and blindfold back on him. Sherlock’s laughter came again, from another spot farther away. He heard clicking as Moran repositioned himself, he tried to calm his breathing, but it was impossible and then he heard the most extraordinary thing.  
“Still alive.”  
“Not dead yet.”  
“Sherlock lives.”   
“Moriarty was real.”  
“I believe in Sherlock Holmes”  
“For England.”  
“And St. George”

The deep voice of Sherlock Holmes echoed through the dock warehouse. John could hear Moran searching for a target as Sherlock’s voice rang out moving from location to location.   
“Come on Moran. What would Moriarty have to say about this? Pathetic,” came Sherlock’s deep voice, laughing at Moran. “You know what Moriarty does to useless, pathetic men. Discards them. Like broken. Little. Toys.”  
John heard the crack of a bullet hit. Sherlock laughed, “Missed. Useless.”   
John heard Moran growled and wondered how far Sherlock could push him. “Daddy issues,” he whispered to himself. John was extremely vulnerable dangling from the hook in the middle of Sherlock’s dance with the assassin. Moran watched as Sherlock’s familiar coat clad figure slipped around the edges of the warehouse.   
“Tedious.”  
“Boring.” “Stupid.”  
“Careless.” “Dull.”  
John could hear Moran’s breathing change and knew what was coming. “Show yourself, coward and stop insulting me. Where are your manners?” hissed Moran.  
“Some would say I don’t have any.” Sherlock said. Something metallic hit the floor with a heavy ring. Moran fired. Sherlock chuckled, “Missed. I thought you were Moriarty’s top assassin. The perfectionist. Now you can’t even hit a...what was it you said? A coward? You might try hitting the broadside of a barn first. You know, target practice. Warm up a bit. Go on, I’ll give you a moment.”  
John heard Moran shuffle a bit, the more Sherlock worked him up, the louder and less cautious his movements were. It was hard to tell distance in the dark and with all the echoes in the building. “No,” drawled Sherlock, “I wouldn’t shoot John now if I were you.”  
Silence.  
“Really?” Sherlock asked.  
Silence.  
“Do I always have to explain everything? No, no. Don’t answer. It was rhetorical. I hate it when people answer a rhetorical question. Except when they are being simple minded fools.”  
Silence.  
“You won’t like the consequences.” said Sherlock in a singsong voice.  
“That’s fine,” whispered Moran cheerfully. “I understand. John, it’s been a pleasure. I hope to do this again real soon.”  
A shot rang out.  
“NOOOO!” yelled Sherlock, his footsteps fell hard as he ran towards John.  
John cringed, expecting to feel the burn of a bullet tearing through him. Instead, nothing, just the sudden release of his weight as Moran’s shot took out what was holding him up. John took a deep breath as his weight was suddenly released into the void. He scrabbled at the air with his bound hands and tilted in the process. Moran must have raised him further into the air, he hit the water at an angle, his ear slamming into the water, stunning him.

Moran smiled to himself, as planned, Sherlock rushed to the good Doctor’s aide. He aimed at the tall figure and began to pull the trigger. His shot went wild and his rifle fell from his hands and skittered across the floor as booted feet made contact with his shoulder. The full weight of a swinging figure in a trademark grey wool coat behind the blow. “Nananananana MOLLY!” the figure yelled. Moran reached for his rifle again before screaming in pain as Molly’s weighted coat was flung out and swiped across his eyes. He grabbed for his face, but she didn’t stop there, she ended it. He felt a sharp debilitating pain to his knee as she stomped it in, dislocating his patella. He shifted his weight to his good leg and lowered his hands. A palm struck his nose hard, breaking it. He yelped as it cracked, his eyes watered and blood flowed from his nose. He was blinded and choking on his own blood. He nearly threw up, as this was followed by a hard knee to the groin doubling Moran over. “This is for Sherlock!” yelled Molly.   
A hard right uppercut with brass knuckles struck Moran in the solar plexus. “This is for John!”  
Moran’s breath whooshed out of him, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to pull air into his drowning and abused lungs, but they weren’t functioning properly. He dropped to all fours, screaming as his weight was put on his dislocated knee. Desperate, he reached his hands for the ground to take more weight off his leg. Once he was a bit more steady, he looked up tried to get his bearings. His vision was blurred, but his hearing was still functioning. This was a woman voice. He swiped his hand over his face and his vision cleared for a moment and saw a petite woman wearing Sherlock’s coat. She stood in front of him, her coat drifting out behind her, like an angel about to bestow a blessing. He watched as she reached a cold brass knuckled hand out and felt her gently touch his chin, lifting it up. She patted him on the cheek, pulled her arm back and slammed her brass knuckles into his jaw. “This is for Mrs. Hudson!” she yelled again.   
Moran saw the other side of the world with that blow and it was full of flashing lights. “Shit.” he mumbled, blood falling from his mouth, dripping on the floor. And then he said nothing at all as Molly tried to finish it with a kick to his head, but was grabbed unceremoniously by an officer and dragged away. She fought the officer too, begging to be let go to finish the job. Her please stopped when a calm, steady hand patted her on the shoulder, told her to be a good girl and let the big men do their jobs. She looked up and saw the tall elegant figure of Mycroft Holmes.   
“Now,” he said, “there’s a good girl. Where is Sherlock?”   
Molly gasped, shook the officer off and ran to the edge of the docks where she had seen John fall into the water after Moran shot the rope holding him up. As Moran had expected, Sherlock followed John. She threw her coat off as she neared the edge and stopped short at the sounds of sputtering and cursing. She began to back away as John verbally tore into Sherlock about what a fine return and how do you do this was and what he would do to Molly the minute he got his hands on her after he was done thrashing Sherlock. Sherlock just chuckled and shushed and obviously’d him. “Well,” said Mycroft, “Welcome back.”  
Sherlock handed a soggy John Watson to a rookie cop, told him he was in shock and needed a blanket. The rookie cop led a belligerent John Watson off to the side, but not before Molly got a hug and a quick “I’m sorry,” out to John. Mycroft followed with a last aside to Sherlock about straightening this whole death business out.  
“I don’t know why you’re worried about John, Molly. He’s been through worse. At least he wasn’t shot this time. Although I wonder what that would have done for his gait, you know he-” Sherlock was stopped with a pair of warm lips and salty tears. He chuckled and pulled her tight.   
“Welcome back, Sherlock,” she said.


End file.
